


They're Teaching Me to Kill, Who's Teaching Me to Love?

by Smallswritesstuff



Series: "Hey There, Soldier" [3]
Category: The Umbrella Academy (TV)
Genre: Commission!Dave, Fluff, I couldn't decide on POV so it's just Every, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-16
Updated: 2020-11-16
Packaged: 2021-03-10 03:20:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,061
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27586658
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Smallswritesstuff/pseuds/Smallswritesstuff
Summary: The Commission crumbles. The Résistance is victorious. Dave finally gets some questions answered.S3 hypothetical. Some fluff.
Relationships: Klaus Hargreeves/David "Dave" Katz
Series: "Hey There, Soldier" [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2016610
Comments: 8
Kudos: 72





	They're Teaching Me to Kill, Who's Teaching Me to Love?

**Author's Note:**

> Title from "Gun." by MCR, mostly because it's stuck in my head.
> 
> The timeline position of the Commission haunts and vexes me, so please treat this as you would the show, where the rules are mainly Okay Yeah Sure That Sounds Fine.

When Herb and Dot return to headquarters, it’s with a large pile of briefcases and a breath of good news. The old Commission has fallen at last. The Résistance has taken the throne.

The remains of the staff gather for a celebration in the lobby. Obsolete papers are thrown over the grand staircase like confetti. Cheers ring out. Bottles are popped open left and right (carefully labeled with not only the years of the wine, but also the years they were extracted from). Ties are abandoned as analysts and assassins alike embrace and laugh and sing drinking songs from across every century of world history. There aren't many of them left, but between the most dedicated activists and the silent rebels, it's quite the event. 

Herb stands at the top of the first flight of stairs and clinks a fork to his glass. He is welcomed with thunderous applause before delving into his scripted speech. Dot stands beside him, smiling sweet as cotton candy, mainly to make sure he doesn’t stumble off the crate he’s using to elevate himself past the railing.

The address he gives is moving, really. The unthinkable has been accomplished. Herb is teary with this revelation, slipping his hand under his glasses every now and then to keep his composure. Every rallying cry, every declaration of triumph, every promise for a brighter future, is met with a wave of clapping and hollering from the sea of support below. Since joining this strange, twisted little company, Herb doesn’t think he’s ever been happier. 

As he arrives at the penultimate index card of his speech, he gives a list of acknowledgements. Dot and Gene for their duties in Résistance leadership. Sam for recruiting for the rebellion. Lenny for agreeing to design them cool new uniforms. 

“And of course, none of this would be possible without our brave civilian ally Diego.”

Another round of cheering ripples through the group. 

“Knowing him changed me - changed a lot of us, I can tell - even in the short time he was here.” He nods with an open gesture. “Always leave it to a Hargreeves to gum up the Commission’s clockwork.”

_“Hargreeves?”_

Herb flinches up from his notes when he hears a voice cut through the crowd below. He peers over his glasses to try and find the person who spoke.

“Um, yes, Diego Hargreeves,” Herb answers. “Who played a vital part in freeing us from tyranny...”

He tries to carry on but trails off at the sound of a man rocketing up the stairs. 

Herb sort-of knows him. A field agent in a rumpled blue suit. One of those corrections-turned-employees - the unfortunate folks who were in danger of influencing the 2019 Doomsday but showed fantastic potential in the business of killing. In the three years he’s completed of his five-year contract, he’s earned a scar on his left cheek and adopted a bit of blonde scruff.

He stands halfway up the flight of stairs and leans over the railing with his exasperated question.

“This ‘Diego’ I’ve heard so damn much about is _Diego Hargreeves?”_

“Well, of course.”

The man - Doug? Donny? Dale? - whacks a hand against the railing. “God dammit, Herb! God _dammit!_ ” He continues storming up the stairs. “You’ve _got_ to tell us these things! _Shit_.”

Herb chuckles awkwardly, trying to preserve his speech, despite the fact this guy clearly has zero qualms about making a scene. “His name wasn’t on the newsletter?”

Dot leans down to Herb and talks through a smile. “I mean, that’s _supposed_ to be Patty’s job as communications manager...”

The agent pauses when he reaches the next landing, gripping the handrail with one hand and pinching the bridge of his nose. “When did they go to?”

“I would assume 2019,” Herb answers. “Uh. Day after the Apocalypse Scare?”

“Jesus Christ, Herb,” he grumbles as he keeps climbing. Herb sees him take the turn towards the briefcase room.

“Where are you going?!” Dot calls after him. “We haven’t even cut the cake yet!” 

**...**

**...**

**...**

_Three years,_ Dave thinks, as he slams the door open. _Three years_ of being told to put his head down. Three years of following unexplained orders. Three years without straight answers to any of his questions about the timeline. Or his friends. Or the Hargreeves.

Once they’d revived him, they’d given him a choice. In one option, he would be re-inserted to the A Shau Valley, an hour after his orchestrated death. They could tidy up the whole thing and plant him in the medic tent, calling it a miraculous recovery. But the second he spoke a word of what happened on that day, they would remove him for good. 

The other option was a contract as an assassin, with the promise of retirement in the era of his choosing after five more years playing soldier.

With Klaus already gone in a flash of blue and nothing left for him at home, Dave didn’t labor for too long over which path to take. 

He'd held tightly to his plan to seek him out in the future, as soon as the Commission execs stopped breathing down his neck. 

He yanks a briefcase off the shelf and spins the numbers along the top to enter the date. His heart is pounding as he clicks open the latches.

**...**

**...**

**...**

Klaus’s descriptions were hardly exaggerated after all - the Academy covers roughly the area of a small nation. Dave feels like he’s been circling the block for an hour trying to find the front door.

He finally rounds that final corner and hears voices down the street. 

“No, no, it’s not that simple!”

Dave staggers back and hides around the bend. Before he vanishes, he makes out two figures: one taller, leaning back against the wall, and one shorter, throwing a fit on the sidewalk. The pavement is otherwise empty. 

“Those assholes know something,” the kid barks. “They’ve plotted against us.”

 _Five,_ Dave guesses, based on prior knowledge. _That is most definitely Five._

“Would it kill you to take it easy for a minute, old man? You’ve got to be exhausted.”

Dave’s hand goes to his mouth.

_That is most definitely Klaus._

“Would it kill me? How about asking if it would kill _us?"_ Five hisses. "Because it could! This isn’t our timeline, and if they decide we need to be eradicated—”

“Five, please, just come back inside.”

“Fine! You and the others have your sleepover with the Sparrow Academy. I’ll be back.”

“Five!”

A rattle and a pulse. A sigh. 

Dave peeks around the corner to find Five gone. 

He takes a shaky inhale and starts down the sidewalk.

Klaus is slouched against the wall, arms folded, staring tiredly at the building across the street. His once-unruly hair has been tamed and now hangs right above his shoulders. His long coat flutters as a car passes by. And those vibrant green eyes that have taunted Dave in his dreams are hidden in a shadow cast by a large black hat, straight out of a classic Western. 

Years older, frustrated, fatigued, and dressed for John Wayne’s funeral, he’s still the most beautiful man Dave has ever known. 

“Klaus.”

It comes out quiet but bounces brightly off the pavement. Klaus looks up. 

For a second, his entire face goes soft. A little startled, but with an unmistakable glow. Dave half-expects him to sprint right into his arms. 

But then, something changes. A switch is flipped. He goes cold. 

Like he can’t quite trust it. 

“Great,” Klaus remarks stiffly. He gets up from the wall. “Which version are you?”

Dave doesn’t know how to receive that. “Klaus...”

“Oh, no, let me guess, it’ll be fun,” Klaus insists. He drops his gaze to the ground. “Let’s see, I’m not hysterical from the throes of withdrawal this time, so hallucination’s gotta be out. Or!” He clasps his hands together. “You’re a creepy Parallel Dave from this parallel universe. Just like Parallel Ben! It’s all just a personal hell pocket for my whole family.”

Dave shakes his head and comes closer. Oh, God. What the hell has he been through? 

_“Klaus,_ ” Dave repeats, in an effort to wake him up. 

_“That is_ , if you’re not actually the ghost of that poor kid I traumatized in 1963,” Klaus considers, glancing towards the sky. “Should’ve just bought the stupid paint and ran.”

“Klaus, shut up.”

“Hold on,” he says with a raised finger. “I’m coming back around on the hallucination thing. ‘Cause, y’know, I _am_ feeling particularly hysterical lately.”

Dave cuts him off, stepping in close and taking his face in his hands.

Klaus is immediately paralyzed, overwhelmed by the warmth of his skin. By the vulnerable look in his eyes. By the way his thumb slides right underneath his cheekbone by muscle memory. 

Something about the touch clenches his heart. It’s kind but sturdy, promising not to let go easily. Like he’s something beloved. Like they’re each other’s only lifeline. 

The sensation brings Klaus right back to the bar in Saigon. 

Only Dave has ever touched him that way.

“Davey...” His voice crumbles. 

A smile of relief breaks over Dave’s face. A little laugh of adrenaline trickles out. “Hi, darlin’.”

Klaus reaches up and grabs onto Dave’s arms. “Oh my God. _Dave_.” He grips them tightly, to prove to himself just how real it all is. “It’s you. It’s actually you.”

Dave nods quickly with another overjoyed chuckle. “I’ve waited so long to see you again,” he says. Though he knew all his years of service - the training, the travel, the bloodiest assignments for the most elusive of causes - would be worth it in the end.

“You’ve waited...” Klaus is a little too breathless to finish the thought. “Me too, Dave. God, I’ve missed you so much.” His expression shifts as tilts his head a bit. “H-how? How did you—? Where did you go after —?”

“I can explain,” Dave murmurs. “Klaus, I can explain everything - _everything_ \- later. I swear.” He nudges a strand of hair out of Klaus’s face with the tip of his finger. “But right now... can you just...”

“Yeah,” Klaus breathes, surging forward and locking Dave’s lips into a kiss. 

He kisses him again, and again, and again, as if to make up for the three years they missed, right here and now. Each time is slower, deeper, closer to earth; gradually trading desperation for fierceness. 

When it’s over, his forehead meets with Dave’s, and they just look at each other for a beat, breathing each other’s air. Though - not to seem like a pathetic lovesick teenager, but - Dave thinks he could keep kissing Klaus until the end of time.

He drops his hands and lets them intertwine with Klaus’s.

“Whatever it is...” Klaus starts, his voice a little smaller, “Whatever it is that brought you here. Are they gonna take you back? I...” he hesitates. “I don’t think I could take this if I’m just gonna lose you again.”

“No,” Dave promises. “I’m done with them. I’m not going anywhere.” He squeezes Klaus’s hands. 

“I love you,” Klaus says. It drops right out of him, onto the sidewalk, like something weighted. Not because it’s a secret, but because it’s so painfully true. And _Christ_ , is it wonderful to have someone to feel so honest with.

“I love you too,” Dave returns. 

And for a moment, they hold the silence around them like a blanket. Right now, there’s no fire. No frantic background noise. No mission to complete, no battle to fight, no order to follow, and no reason to hide. For the first time since Klaus fell out of the sky in 1968, they’re _safe._

“I like your hat, by the way,” Dave mumbles.

Klaus lets out a tiny, happy sigh. “Yeah? ‘Course you would, cowboy.” He then scans Dave’s face mock-appraisingly. “I don’t know if I’ve made up my mind yet.”

“On what?”

Klaus brings a hand up and brushes his thumb across Dave’s close-cropped facial hair. “On this.”

“What? You don’t think it looks nice?”

“Oh, it _looks_ nice, Dave, that’s all fine,” Klaus assures him. “But the texture, I gotta admit, is a bit... different.”

“Ah." Dave smirks. "And you haven’t decided how to feel about it yet."

“I just think it requires further analysis,” Klaus says innocently, even as he leans closer.

"Who am I to deny science?" Dave mutters between their lips before closing the gap between them.

  
  



End file.
